According to his secretary

  You don’t fall for straight men.

You don’t spend ample amount of time fantasizing about him. You really shouldn’t spend your entire forty five minute break replaying all the scenes you’ve made up about him in your head.

 My personal favorite is the one where he’s in my seat, hands firm on my hips, cheeks flushed, biting my lips because I know better than to make a sound.

Yes I know, a very crazy thought to be having about your secretary.

My straight secretary my father personally handpicked.

 It would never happen.

Carson, you know the rule. You don’t fall for a straight man.  

 You don’t look at straight men and wish they would call you ‘Good Boy’.

Or imagine how their big, rough hands would feel on your skin, or if their mouths are as soft as they look, or how they whispered your name in the dark.

 Too many ‘or’s.

Because he will never feel the same way.

 Even if he’s wearing a tailored suit the same color as his eyes.

Especially since he was the no fun Asher Hall.

I have never seen the man crack a smile, I doubt his face had the muscles for that.

 However, none of these stop me from dreaming about my secretary. If I kept a log of the dreams I have had of him…?

 The thought of last night’s dream turns my blood hot.

Too hot.

Not now.

Too late, I thought of it and now it’s replaying in my head.

He had straightened my legs, mouth trailing a straight line from the insides of my thighs, eyes on me the whole time.

 “Ash…” I had moaned the name I find myself calling him in my dreams.

Then like a choir master, with all my endings in the palm of his hands, he played with them, tugging them as he wished, fingers digging into my thighs. My entire body shook, he wasn’t done.

 His mouth found mine, sucking on it, he swallowed every moan that slipped out of me, his hand crawled down and played with my hardness.

 Even now, my body remembers how I came undone in his hands.

“Your meeting with the Richardson is in five minutes, sir.” his velvet smooth voice pulls me out of my head and into reality.

 I clear my throat, avoiding looking at his face.

After all, in my head he doesn’t call me Sir, he calls me Good Boy, he makes me come in less than five minutes, and looked at me with a promise to tear me limb by limb.

 However, even in my dreams, he doesn’t let me touch him.

“Sir?” he asks, waiting for my response, his expression neutral. I am certain Asher Hall doesn’t know what it feels like to have any other emotion other than cool, collected and very nonchalant.

 “Hm?” I clear my throat,

“Yeah, sure. Let’s shift the dinner with Graham tonight, I have the piling research to work on for The Bellmont File.” I say with a wince, he had put the research on my schedule for the past few days, and I did what I did best with research.

 Ignored it completely until now.

Underneath his left eye twitches at my blatant disobedience. It gives me a jolt in my pants. He got like that when I disobeyed him, I mean he controls my schedule and therefore my life, and I fear he’s a bit of a perfectionist.

 There’s a thrill I get from disobeying him and getting him to do this.

But this time it wasn’t my plan, there’s nothing I hate more than being hunched over lots and lots of paperwork.

 “Unfortunately, your father has asked that this meeting be treated with utmost importance.”

Right. Of course he had.

And he wasn’t asking, it was Crawford Bitters way of saying do it, moving the chess pieces from behind the scenes, his favorite thing to do.

  There was really no choice here.

So after a meeting with Richardson, a boring affair that could have been over an email, but these people love to say they had a Bitters over at theirs, and so Asher made me fix my face ever so often as he stood behind Richardson.

 It was not just funny, it also kept me from imagining his hands on my hips.

God.

I am in desperate need to get laid, and some hobbies. Neither of which would be happening anytime soon.

 We were off to dinner with Graham.

Which means a long night of an all nighter.

I didn’t mind. It was more time to spend sitting in the office with Asher, although nothing has ever come out of it, and probably wouldn’t, since he’s in the middle of a nasty divorce from his wife.

 But it was nice to stare at him, more material for my late night activities.

Now, I steal a glance at him, he’s spread out in the seat beside me, his glasses are off his face at the moment. His sharp features looking forward, if he feels me looking at him, he doesn’t show it. How many times have I imagined out heads angular before I kissed him?

 He climbs out of the car when we get there and opens my side of the door.

I hate that he’s doing it under these circumstances. My father had requested it, and if I want him by my side for a long time, I have to do as he’s asked.

 “This way, sir.” he says in his smooth voice that always has an effect on me. There are so many things I would like him to say to me in that voice.

The meeting point, definitely set up by Asher, is a private restaurant, the kind my father would approve of.

 The night is cold and dark, the kind where I see my breath in front of me. My favorite season. I really hope there’s a snow storm one of these days, but on one of the rare days where I am off work.

 I almost snicker at the impossibility of it.

 Graham is already seated, one hand on his cane, mouth twisted in a frown.

“I apologize for time…” I start, instinct kicking in.

“They say you’re the best lawyer in all of Coldwater.”

I hide my wince as I take a seat opposite the old man. Asher stands close enough that I feel his body heat, and presence. It’s very distracting.

 Still, what I call the lawyer mode is something I can’t tweak, it comes on the second I sit across a would be client.

“That’s why you keep people waiting??” he continues.

“I apologize for time wasted, however, the meeting was slated for 8pm, and your office agreed to the time. This is exactly 8pm.” Asher answers smoothly. I had no idea about the time or anything. I leave all that stuff to him.

 Graham, a man who’s never satisfied, looks disgusted at the fact that he was corrected by a secretary.

Like I would let him treat Asher as he pleased,

 “Mr. Graham, what you’ve heard is wrong. I am not the best, I am only the best at making sure cases don’t go to court, saving you a lot of time and money. But we’d be wasting both if this meeting drags on, since I charge by the hour for consultation.”

 My father wouldn’t approve of this.

Drag out the meeting as long as possible, get them to spend money, it’s the Bitters lawyer they are talking with.

 Graham makes a throaty noise, but gets to it.

It’s a really complicated case, but my brain goes ahead of me, undoing it from the core. I wasn’t good at so many things, but one of my strengths was how to use people and things.

 Otherwise, what twenty three year old lawyer climbed the ranks so fast when all he wants from life is to be sprawled across his secretary’s thighs? I’m very good at my job.

Unfortunately, I’m even better at wanting things I shouldn’t.

 I sigh when we watch Graham leave.

“Back to the office.” I sigh again when we get to the office, like this is not the part I am looking forward to the most.

Asher turns around to face me. His mouth opens. Closes. Then,

 “You had plenty of time to do the research.”

I blink.

Asher had never, ever spoken to me without addressing me formally. And now, with him speaking through gritted teeth, voice still low, I know he’s mad.

 The fluttery feeling in my stomach says all of me loves Asher mad.

“Yeah, well, there’s no need crying over spilled milk now.”

He takes a step forward.

 I take one back without thinking.

The wall meets my spine.

 My eyes are wide as I take him in.

He’s leaning forward and in my face.

 “You just love to slack off don’t you?” his voice is low and in my face.

I am more than hot and bothered.

Every part of me lights up like a god damned Christmas tree.

 Shit.

“That’s not the only thing I love.” I find myself whispering.

He pushes himself off me, fingers digging into his tie and he tugs it downwards.

 “We’re off the clock now, and anything that happens from here out, is solely your fault, Carson.”

 Shit.

My throat is dry. Is this my imagination?? Is this real??

 Then he turns to me, pausing at the door.

“What are you waiting for? Get to work.”